Our Casterly Rock
by KingUnderTheHill123321
Summary: The children of Casterly Rock had to grow up together before they started to hate each other. And even cynical, bitter Tyrion Lannister once felt the overpowering need to be cared for. One-shot.


_Ouch._

Stupid Father. Ridiculous Father with his deadeye stare and impassive skin. _So pale, _Tyrion supposed. Casterly Rock played housemaid to much sunshine yet the calloused exterior of Tywin Lannister's palm still pulsated coldly as it forcefully collided with the submissive face of the "Imp" earlier that day. Tyrion had desperately tried to recollect the shattered pieces of the fresh ornament earlier that day, apologize continually for shuffling too quickly down the halls without seeing properly in front of him, and even promise to repair the antique himself . And yet, he _still _felt the redness of his cheeks swell with aggrieved blood. The slap itself had lasted no longer than half a second (Tyrion had counted with all his might through the numbing discomfort), the inexpressive, daunting figure never once broke out of character or even bared a hint of antagonism; the face plain and quickly unreadable as the long yet powerful legs propelled the Lord of Casterly Rock through the dimly-lit hall, leaving a bemused Tyrion in their wake.

_He caught me._

Jaime had always managed to catch him. No matter the speed at which his undersized legs would carry him, the customized gait the diminutive feet undertook, the tall golden-haired boy would invariably encircle Tyrion's midsection with his comparatively larger arms, hoisting the light figure into the air to tickle wildly until Tyrion begged for mercy. _Something was different this time, _Tyrion alleged as he stomped indignantly over the broken bits of glass, unquestionably shredding his already injured foot but feeling undeniably cathartic at the release of pent-up resentment all the same. Inexplicably, Jaime was not able to rapidly subdue his far physically inferior younger brother. Tyrion ran through the events of the playful chase through his mind in quick succession:

_First I was running then he was running. They there was some grass and then… and then I turned a corner. Then he turned. Then two hands came out of nowhere and pulled him._

_That's_ where he had likely stopped. Tyrion was far too excited and exultant to notice the vanishing figure behind him, nor did he note the suppressed giggles and instantly recognizable din of the ripping of cloth to be in any way peculiar. _He cannot keep up with me anymore_, Tyrion joked with himself. The two hands that had so possessively seized his older brother were tender and fair, and the keeper of such beautiful hands must have been… persuasive enough to turn Jaime away from his dear little brother.

Tyrion frowned slightly as the slender outline of Cersei Lannister approached him with disgust.

"What did you do now, idiot?"

Tyrion managed to quickly subvert his frown into a mock-smile, desperately wishing that somehow, she would comprehend the true nature of the matter.

"Jaime was tryin' to catch me again," Tyrion recollected fondly, smiling blithely despite the threatening glare from his older sister. "Cers, I was running as fast as I could and still Jaime couldn't beat me because I read a book on running faster and even with small legs I can run really good and because – "

"My name is Cersei."

Tyrion blinked confusedly.

"Yeah, and then – "

"I don't care." Cersei oscillated quickly, noting the impending footsteps of Jaime, scurrying quickly.

"Hey Cers," Jaime called out, the booming voice carrying brilliantly throughout the rectangular hall. His seemingly omnipresent smile grew wider as he glimpsed warmly at Tyrion. "Hello little brother."

The last statement drew an unusual response from Cersei, who immediately threw herself into Jaime's chest, nearly knocking the lanky boy over from the force of the impact. It was a hug, Tyrion predicted, but the arms were clung far too tightly around the back to seem to be comfortable for either party… both of which were bizarrely enjoying it.

"You're so slow now!" Tyrion whined impatiently, silently praying for his sister to relinquish her grip on Jaime so they could resume their unfinished game. "I've beaten you four times now!"

"Sorry," Jaime spoke softly, stroking the golden bush of hair beneath his chin gingerly. "You've gotten bigger and faster since last time."

The bushel of flowing hair snorted.

"I'm still the same," Tyrion answered glumly, agreeing with his sister. "I checked today, I'm no bigger than I was last week."

"Well," Jaime argued, the eyes drenched with amusement. "you're probably doing it wrong then."

"Come now," Cersei interrupted, lifting her head out of the broad chest and now turning her head to glance smugly at the stunted form gaping happily at her. "At least the dwarf's got honesty wrapped around his fat finger."

Tyrion felt the usual sense of disappointment well up in his chest. _She loves me_. _Jaime said so. _And from what he knew about his brother, he would never lie to him. _He promised me he never would_.

"My finger isn't fat," Tyrion retorted mildly, although he immediately regretted it as he felt the familiar excruciating sensation of fingernails viciously submerged in his forearm.

"It isn't?" Cersei questioned angrily, the normally beautiful face contorted into an alarming smile. "What is it then? Stupid? Small? Weak? Why don't you tell me then Tyreak?"

Tyrion released a yelp of pain as he desperately struggled to pull his arm away.

"Rhyme, little brother. Perhaps you are too stupid to understand that either…" Cersei harshly stated.

Tyrion truly fought to contain the now burning sensation beside his eyelids, the shimmering surface of his large eyes invoking an impossibly large smile in Cersei.

"Let him go, Cersei," Jaime intervened, the voice tired, almost gruff from constant use.

"I was planning to," Cersei managed out, before tearing her fingers away from the soft skin. "Excuse me, I think I have to wash something of mine…"

Cersei glanced inquisitively at her reddened fingers in disgust as the slender figure walked off briskly; humming a merry tune that Tyrion had only _dreamed_ of her reciting caringly to him, serenading him to soothing sleep.

"Jaime?" Tyrion interrupted, suddenly controlled by a powerful curiosity. "What's a Tyreak?"

"It's like calling you a freak and using your name." the deep voice came out, smoothly yet tenderly.

"Sometimes I read stories about good freaks, amazing freaks like dragons, and then – " Tyrion paused, unsure whether his next divulgence would sway his brother, "Father and some other boys outside the Rock use the same word with me."

Jaime spoke nothing, his smile slowly diminishing.

"What kind am I?" Tyrion asked, not honestly caring whether he might be irritating his clearly deep in thought brother.

Jaime took a moment to catch the fading chords of the merry tune, the voice gentle and melancholy, frowning slightly. He turned back to the small, still waiting pair of eyes staring expectantly at him very far below his own normal gaze.

"You're a dragon, little brother."

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Dinner was amazing, as usual. Tyrion had fought the almost overwhelming urge to request the cook to bring in the tallest chair in the Rock to better seat his small torso. Even worse was the heated argument that Jaime and him had gotten into when he had tried to casually mention his ambivalence. Jaime seemed almost insistent to secure the high chair, while Tyrion had managed to persuade him (after nearly four minutes of banter) that he would not want to feel embarrassed for requiring a special seating arrangement and attract the universally despised attention of Father. Perhaps his brother had only relented because Tyrion had selectively chosen to utilize key facial expressions which he knew were bound to guilt his brother. He suspected that Jaime himself was probably aware of this but took no action against it.

The conversations throughout the meal, however, were pitifully short in supply. Tyrion himself did not expect to be allowed to talk (much less feel a compulsive need to speak), but there would always exist the cheery teasing Cersei and Jaime exchanged, Father's dreadfully boring lectures on family or power, or even the cook's good-natured cooing over the recurrent cat that had seemed to timely coordinate its appearances with the routine servings of chicken, rice and gravy.

"Jaime, I need to speak to you briefly outside." Father interrupted, the dominant voice nearly fracturing the air with its stern, heavy tone. "Kingsguard matters."

Jaime almost leaped out of his chair enthusiastically, keen to converse. _How does he face Father with no fear? _Tyrion had long since lost his jealousy over his brother's seemingly overarching perfectionism in what Tyrion judged to be all matters of life (the important smidgens anyway, like food and fighting) and instead replaced it with an all-consuming admiration.

"You," Tywin spoke harshly, gesturing roughly in Tyrion's presence but making no evident indication that he was attempting to talk to him. Tyrion found this incredibly surprising. "Cease your incessant begging for a chair to satisfy your laziness. If we begin to reward your proclivity for indolence with spoon-feeding, then you will never mature into a man." Tyrion _almost _caught a glimpse of sarcasm on the Lord's usually stern features, but as of yet, had never correctly been able to deduce anything about that man. He found himself alone with Cersei, who was now stuffing her face more hungrily, almost trying to forget Tyrion's presence by overindulging in food. He wanted to ask whether she had told Father, but a far more grand idea consumed his mind.

_Speak to her, Jaime said. She loves you right down to the bottom. _

"I like that cat," Tyrion boldly proclaimed, not noticing a single change in the austere features sitting beside him, two seats away. "It has black stripes and grey fur. Some dragons are black and grey. I would like a dragon. Wouldn't you?" Tyrion got up jarringly and hobbled over to the closest seat to his sister, who was munching on her rice so violently that Tyrion could hear the audible gnashing of pearly-white teeth.

"No." Cersei replied, her throat too full perhaps to inflect the retort with the appropriate amount of regular disdain.

"Do you like birds?"

"No."

"What about dragons? Wait, I already asked that. What about bears Cers? They're so big."

"No."

"Did you see that new book Father's been keeping? It's so important that he wouldn't even let me look at it –"

"SHUT UP TYRION!"

Silence fell.

Tyrion had failed to notice that she was done eating, the mouth open and angry, the throat now purged from foodstuffs and filled to the brim with a palpable, molten hatred. Tyrion tried urgently to channel Jaime's courage again:

"I just want to know," Tyrion attempted, his voice quivering from the overbearingly furious stare, "what you like. Because Jaime said that whenever I like something he likes it so the only way for us to like something is when I have to tell you what I like so I thought that when I told you what I liked maybe you would li – "

"You like that cat, right?" Cersei interrupted, her face dimly graced with an affectionate beaming he had seldom observed when she was in his company.

_She's smiling at me! She's smiling at me!_

"Yes!" Tyrion nearly shouted, bouncing erratically in his chair energetically to finally receive some semblance of back-and-forth.

"Then," she mused, laying her hand softly to cup his withered cheek. "I'll get him for you."

Tyrion thought he was suffering a serious delusion or perhaps was dreaming. _Jaime said the only way to tell if dreams are real is to go to him and ask. I have to find Jaime. _The small form pranced out of the room, dashing swiftly enough to release the creaks of the wooden floor beneath his toes.

(POV Shift) After a brief exchange in the hallway with Tyrion (an entire five minutes), Jaime strolled into the dining room, viewing proudly at Cersei's enlightened face, filled with joy and a pervasive zeal that seemed almost infectious; capturing Jaime in all its beauty. _In all __**her**__ beauty, _Jaime thought.

That is, until he saw the motionless corpse of a feline laid horizontally over Cersei's lap.

"I'm going to serve it to him for breakfast," she puffed out with gusto.

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(POV Shift) Jaime was being exasperating again. Tyrion had only requested two further stories, but the weary boy seemed adamant that both Tyrion and he achieve some impression of sleep straightaway. Tyrion attempted to further press the matter but Jaime silenced him with a glower. It _was_ late of course. The story about the four-winged dragon had provided enough sustenance for his dreams tonight. Of course, he always had some more inspiration…

"When did she say she would get me it?" Tyrion asked, though with plain impatience.

Jaime sighed slowly and shifted on Tyrion's small bed, the prolonged sitting position straining his already weathered backbone. He had desperately wanted to say something else, to somehow inform Tyrion then simultaneously console him, in some way avoid…

Lying.

"Tomorrow."

"Yay! Tomorrow is my 11th birthday!" Tyrion yelled triumphantly. "It'll make the best birthday present ever! Then we can ride together, then she can read to me at night, then she can beat up the boys who call me a fly, then we can walk around Casterly Rock together – " Tyrion stopped abruptly, noting his brother's rapidly whitening face.

"Jaime?"

"Sleep well Tyrion," Jaime spoke hurriedly, his face losing all color but replacing the vivid whiteness with a tiny sense of relief at observing the joyful features. "I told you we would be tired." Jaime ruffled the younger's hair noisily, soaking in the cold curls once more before turning to leave out of the room, smiling finally at his brother over his shoulder.

Tyrion heard the abrupt closing of the door and lay back down almost instantaneously, willing to sleep. Dreams of rabbits, dragons, and now his very own cat! He vividly imagined the sluggish training, the awkward conversations with Father (which he knew Jaime would defend him on, and now Cersei too!), and the placid humming of its purr; he almost felt transcendent, as if his soul was desperately trying to free itself. Jaime never lied. She _did _love him. Tomorrow, Tyrion promised himself, he would meticulously reserve all his warmth, intending to expend them one of the few things in his life he now knew cared most deeply about him.

He would run and hug her. And then walk with her. And then spend the rest of his life blissfully content in her tender embrace.

_**A/N: Yeesh, depressing endings aside...**_

_**It's weird, but no one seems to focus much on the Tyrion/Cersei sibling relationship. It's interesting for one part because if their relationship had progressed more healthily, they might have ended up very close. Conflict between then serves for some great emotional drama, and I wanted to explore that at one point in his life, (probably even a tiny bit now) Tyrion **__**did**__** have a desire to have a caring big sister. (Even if things turned out terribly in the end) What do you guys think?**_

_**Well R/R and enjoy reading!**_


End file.
